


Story of an inanimate object.

by Tired_Mixtape



Series: My Original Narratives [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Crack, Gen, POV Inanimate Object, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24799111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tired_Mixtape/pseuds/Tired_Mixtape
Summary: Ever wondered what it'd be like to live life as a paintbrush?
Series: My Original Narratives [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793668
Kudos: 2





	Story of an inanimate object.

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another english assignment. This time from grade 10. I hate this one, but please enjoy anyway.

Everything I see is warped. Many different forms pass in front of me, but I can’t tell what they are and what they’re doing. I see so many different colours. I want to see what’s going on, but I can’t see straight. It’s like there’s a barrier between me and the rest of the world. I long to be held and used. I feel so wrong. All of my bristles are in place. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. I’m not supposed to be perfect or neat. All I want to do is create, but I can’t do that by myself. I need someone else to help me fulfill my dream. I feel everything shaking, and all of the shifting colours turn to white.

Suddenly, the barrier is ripped away. I can see everything clear and crisp. A grubby hand picks me up and I hear someone squealing with joy. Excitement rushes through me when I see my owner. She has a chubby face with rosy cheeks, and blonde pigtails that shoot out from the sides of her head like geysers. Her large hazel eyes light up with joy as she rushes to get started. I’m suddenly drenched in blue, and…I’m creating! This is what I’ve always dreamed of. With the help of her mother, the girl learns how to create with me. She learns how to clean me between colours, and how to make beautiful images appear on the paper. I feel like my life finally has meaning. After she finishes her masterpiece, her mother washes me under warm water and rids me of all the colour left in my bristles. I'm put into a cup with other tools and stored away until the next time I’m to be used. 

Me and Abigail have created so many wonderful images together. Her skills have definitely improved over the years. The pictures we create are no longer abstract. Recently we’ve been doing a lot of kittens. Black and white fuzzy kittens. I hope it’s just a phase. As much as I like those furry creatures, it’s getting overwhelming. Light pours into the cupboard and I feel her delicate fingers wrap around me. She’s grown so much. Her hair is always tied up with a pink scrunchie on the back of her head. Sitting down in front of a fresh sheet of paper, we begin. I wonder what we’ll create this time. Her strokes are so confident and sure. Mixing the colours to create a beautiful turquoise hue, she applies it to her canvas. Together, we create a world outside our own. With light strokes, she creates different shapes and lines that fit together to make a discernible picture. She frequently switches between shades of blue and green, and applies it to the paper in a gentle fashion. To my relief, it’s not a kitten this time. It’s a bird with gorgeous feathers that fan out in all directions. I catch a glimpse of the reference image still on the computer screen. The peacock on the monitor looks much less distorted than the one on the page, but what did I expect from a nine year old. Practice makes perfect, and I can tell that Abby is on her way to fame. She washes all the excess colour from me, and hides me in my cupboard for another day.

Yet again, daylight swallows the darkness of my cupboard, and I feel her firm grasp around me. Abby and I have graduated from regular old paper; we use professional canvases now! She covers the canvas in a layer of liquid white and begins the piece. When she first stopped using reference pictures, I thought it would be harder to make the image appear accurate to something in real life. But I soon realized that it gave her more freedom to create her world the way she wanted it. With confident strokes, she applies a beautiful hue of blue to the canvas. Overlapping the clear blue sky with fluffy white clouds, she creates her personalized alternate universe. The landscape on the canvas is beautiful. It could use a few more fine details, but I’m not meant for making such small marks. Tucking her beautifully styled hair behind her ear, she frowns and brainstorms ways to add those finishing touches to the masterpiece. She cleans me and seals the colours so they won’t dry out. Setting me down on the easel, she gets up to leave.

I lie there waiting for what seems like forever. Through the open door of her room, I can see people come and go throughout her house. They talk, laugh and argue just like normal. It’s strange to see her when she’s not creating. Sometimes she looks like the happiest girl in the world, but sometimes she curls up and cries on her bed. Maybe it’s just a teenager thing, but I always want to be there for her. I can tell that creating is her way of expressing herself, but she seems stuck.

Today seems special. Abigail practically jumped out of bed(that never happens)! She also spent a long time picking an outfit, and doing her hair and makeup. I see her mother carrying a large bouquet of bouncing balloons down the hallway. A shiny number 16 is plastered on the biggest one of the bunch. I vaguely remember a balloon like that when I was first unpackaged, but it had a rainbow three instead. Then it hits me. Today is the day that people treat Abby like a princess. If I’m correct, it only comes once a year. She gets showered with presents, food, and cake all day long. Every year, the number goes up by one! Personally, I think it’s a silly, nonsensical tradition, But the humans seem to enjoy it.

Throughout the day, I see people come and go. They scurry excitedly throughout the house carrying brightly coloured packages with large bows on top. As her birthday draws on, I hear people laughing and singing. Abby steps into the room with wooden box clutched in her arms. It sounds like the party has died down, so she’s probably going to bed sometime soon. I can see her gently set the box down, and open its shiny silver latches. The lid creaks open, and the contents in it are revealed to me. They are all sitting there in a row. Organized. Pristine. Perfect! I see all the different shapes and sizes. Who would ever need that many? Their bristles are all perfectly arranged; It reminds me of my time in the store. Then the sudden realization hits me.  _ Does she even need me anymore?  _ Apparently not, because with a beaming smile on her face, she puts me back in my usual cup and stuffs me in a cardboard box. All the lights go out.

I’ve been in this cold darkness for ages. There’s not much I can do to pass the time. So I decide to reflect on my life. I guess I just wasn’t good enough for Abby. I’m not professional grade, so what did I expect. 

Light surrounds me, and I’m briefly blinded. As I adjust to the brightness, I see a face that’s both familiar and brand new at the same time. A chubby little hand pulls me from the darkness, and the girl’s hazel eyes examine every inch of me. She reminds me of Abigail, but that doesn’t make any sense. By now, Abby would be somewhere in her mid-twenties. But the girl’s face brings back so many old memories. Someone else comes to look at me over the small girl’s shoulder. This time, It’s a face that I definitely recognize. The long blonde hair shimmers in the light, and nostalgia washes over me. Abby picks me up, and I immediately feel at home in the familiar grip. She teaches the young girl how to create a world outside our own. An alternate universe. With my help, this girl will learn how to paint too.


End file.
